Sunday, 24 February 2008

Redcar, a hinterland,unlandmarked coast of sand,flat sea, small dunes, but yonder,in un-grassed Saxon graves,a brooch, a bullion find,worked gold, red stone, a wonderof burnished art. A handmight hold the contrabandthat gives back to this towntwo thousand years of depthin such fine contour. Found,truth's road we can go down,marauding yarls behindthe quiet field around.

Wednesday, 20 February 2008

I weep profuselyinto the cockeyed sofathis blue skyis a roof without reliefliliesdance on raw red mincethis is strip-tease on the trapezethese grapes I have forbidden myselffor liberty’s sakefor meditation on very youngsuburban third-world loveso arrangedthat cometsherald the rising sunin eccentric orbits around a setting earth

Friday, 8 February 2008

We were on the valley roadin the chattering crowd of the market stallswhen I suddenly looked up over the hillwhere silence was piercedby a single call like a whistle,a buzzard I thought, at one withthe blue breach in the cloudsalong a line of trees.I kept gazing but I could seeonly the skyline.Then one more time the preciseneedle of a sound, a keyholeinto vastness.The breath of an eye.A cleansed breath. Alert and quiet likethe unwavering candle of meditation.You tapped my shoulder and said:“ Let’s go, you won’t see it, it’s gone.”I walked on in the strewing chatterand smiledat the luminous gap which by leavingwe confirm.

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